disclaimer: i do not own x-men, only my OCs Billy and Salem.

summary: Two siblings arrive at Xavier's school. One is a teenaged beauty queen but with more flaws then the average human. One is an autistic, innocent young man with a love of nature. However, within the school prejudice, hate, and intolerance collide with an unbalanced personality, changing several lives forever. High school fic, in mutant high.

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I looked at myself one more time in the mirror, before leaving. I was not vain by nature-- I usually had men and boys bee-lining towards me, telling me I was beautiful or sexy, whatever, so that was enough of a confidence boost for me to not even have to put on make-up, or even look in a mirror. A lot of people back in Los Vegas said I could pass off as Megan Fox's twin sister, which absurdely flattered to me because come on, Fox is one of the most prettiest woman alive. But heading to a new school-- one for mutants, no less-- it made me nervous, and my automatic instinct when I was nervous is to... put on makeup. I know, how cliche and preppy, but that's the way I am and I don't really give a shit if people think I'm conceited. 'Cause they don't even know me.

I had my dad's black eyes. I used to have really pale, pasty white skin, but when I was fourteen I started tanning, and four years in Vegas I was very proud of my appearance-- deeply tanned skin, healthy and glowing. It usually took me an hour to do my eyebrows. Normally they're really bushy and unkept, but lately I've taken to plucking them. I used to overdo it, but mum taught me how to do it, and now they arched and let my eyes pop out, which are rather small by nature. Man, if people only knew how many acne breaks out I have, or how I have to shave my legs twice a day. I have a lot more hair growing on me then the natural human being-- sucks, I know, but there's not much I could do... like, what, go for laser treatment? Please.

I had put on my newly cleaned DC shoes, nice and white. The heat was intense out here, so I was wearing a really short black skirt, 'cause I don't care if people think I'm a slut. It's not like I was going to go stealing their boyfriends or anything. I already had a man in my life-- and he was the most important thing in the world to me. My older brother. He had bought me the sweater I was wearing-- mum and dad took us out shopping the day before and he had surprised me with a tight, fitted white sweater that had Suicide Girl on the front in black, gothicka writing, with the playboy bunny thing stitched on the back. I had squealed and hugged him and he had laughed and laughed, 'cause my brother is mentally retarded, he's handicapped, and he was the most important thing in the whole god-damn world to me. And he's coming to school with me.

He had this... extra gene, like I do, and when he can communicate with the little things in nature, like bugs and animals. It had all started when he was twelve and mum had stepped outside and he was talking to the new puppy we had got for him, and the dog was responding back, and did whatever he said. Sure, we dismissed it, but when he whispered in the dog's ear and it went and retrieved a rose and dropped it at my mother's feet, we knew something was up.

My mutation was a little... different. Horrifying, in fact. I saw... disembodied spirits. People in their dying moments, whether they had drowned, slit their wrists, or were pinned between two vehicles, they came to me. They scared the shit out of me, to be sure, making me a rather high-strung, tense kind of person. I had a tendency to fly off the handle about a lot of things and I refused to talk about what I saw with people. Sometimes the dead talk to me, and they whisper things to me, things so private I cannot share with anyone. I would feel like a traitor. They taught me how to hold secrets. Sometimes they even inspired me.

There were a lot of them who died from being unhealthy, so it inspired me to be in extreme physical condition, even though I was a heavy smoker and I'm getting close to becoming an alcoholic, according to my mum... but I mean, what kind of seventeen year old girl doesn't want to go out and party and rebel as much as possible?

I slid on my shoes, grabbed my purse and tote bag, and walked down the stairs. Billy, my sweet brother, was sitting on the bottom of the stairs, rocking slowly back and forth, his favourite Winnie the Poo duffel bag on his curled feet. He was flexing his fingers curiously before his face. I sat down next to him.

"Sal!" He said happily, and I wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"What's up, baby?" I asked, rubbing his shoulder. "You ready to go?"

"Yep. Where we going?"

"We're going to a special school. Where no one will hurt you."

"And you?" he asked, his over-sized cerulean eyes widening under his tangled mop of black hair. He smelled like hot dogs and pepsi.

"Of course. I won't leave you." He nodded, his head dipping up and down heavily.

"Good. Good. Good." He smiled and stared at his feet. Dad and mum came out of the kitchen, their exhausted, prematurely-aged faces sweeping over us.

"You ready, kids?" Dad asked, grabbing Billy's bag and ruffling his head. "C'mon, kiddo, let's go shoot the shit."

"Barry!" Mum said, warningly. I hooked my arm with hers, which was pale and flabbed compared to mine.

"Shoot the shit." Billy repeated. "Shoot the shit." He repeated it as he followed Barry out the door, who was holding his head high, and so was my mum as we walked out the front door. Both my parents were upset, probably heart-broken, like we were going to college, but I only had to complete two courses then I would get my diploma-- psychology and philosophy. I would probably return to Vegas, and either become a bartender (childhood fantasy come true), or go to college and become a funeral director, another childhood fantasy of mine.

"Look after him, Sal." Mum said quietly as dad strapped Billy into the backseat of the car.

"I will. I promise." I jumped in the car next to Billy, sitting in the middle. Dad tossed me Billy's car bag, which was filled with little kid's books. I pulled out the Cat in the Hat and read it to Billy, who could sort of read but had a lot of trouble, even at the age of eighteen. Dr Suess was Billy's favourite author right now, and recently mum had gotten me into Franz Kafka and sifting through dad's library I had came across Russian eccentric Dostoevsky. I needed my glasses to read that. It was also currently in my bag, which I would probably finish reading after Billy fell asleep.

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When we rolled to a stop in front of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Billy was asleep and I was just finishing my book. I glanced up at the mansion over my glasses, which flashed in the sun and blinded my mum. "Honey, can I talk to you outside?" she asked. She looked rather upset. I got out of the car while dad woke up Billy, and unstrapped him from his harness. We stood by the trunk of the car.

"What's up?"

"I really need you to keep an eye on Billy... you know how he gets around new people. He gets... confused. Scared. Ya know?" I nodded, knowing very well.

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen." I took her hand and squeezed it hard. Poor mum. She looked so tired, haggard, old and ready to drop. So did my dad.

"Please, don't." Mum hugged me fiercely and kissed me on the cheek, and I returned the favour. "Call us as soon as you get settled in!" her voice cracked. Dad came around and popped the trunk open, and I switched my glasses for sunglasses (Chanelle, meow!), and twisted my hair up in a messy bun and helped Billy towards the gates. A woman with fierce red hair and a bald man in a wheelchair rolled towards us, the gate opening automatically. I came to a stop and Billy lurched over to me and grabbed my hand, and I squeezed it comfortingly.

"Hello!" The Bald man, I presumed who was Xavier, rolled to a stop in front of me, extending a hand. I shook it. "Welcome to my school! I am Professor Xavier. This is one of the teacher's, Jean Grey." I shook Jean's hand, who was excruciatingly beautiful. I felt a little self-conscious. Oh man, I hope the girls here aren't as pretty as that. I thought. Xavier shook Billy's hand. "Welcome, young man."

"Hi." Billy said shyly. He looked at Jean and then turned away, covering his face. I answered for him.

"Sorry, he's a little shy around women. Especially pretty ones." Jean smiled warmly.

"That's perfectly alright. Mind if I show him around the yard?" she was watching him chase after a bee, heading towards the garden.

"Oh, go ahead, please. Just," I leaned forward to talk a little quieter. "Just treat him like an adult. He loves that."

"Of course."

Jean gently led Billy away, and my parents came to join me. They talked with Xavier for a while, just discussing things about Billy. They talked about the bullying that had gone on back at our old high school in Vegas, the teasing and the bloody noses and the tears. I had tried to step in and stop it as much as possible. Most of the time I was reduced to sitting in the bathroom and crying my eyes out, my little clique of preppy, popular friends I had grown to hate trying to comfort me with fake, fake smiles and ridiculing eyes.

Jean came back a couple minutes later. I could already tell Billy was going to have a crush on her, he was giving Jean a daisy he had plucked from the garden, who let him place it in her hair. It made her look even more pretty, if that were possible. "If you're ready, Salem, I'll show you both around the school."

"Sure. And just call me Sal." She nodded, and Billy took my hand again. It was a little wet and I noticed some drool was slowly making its way down his chin. He had not noticed. I wiped it for him with a kleenex, aware of Jean watching out of the corner of her eye. We entered the vast mansion, into the perfectly clean and proportioned school. It reminded me slightly of an institution.

"First, I'm going to introduce you to the teachers. Okay?" I nodded and Jean showed us around, and I attempted to get Billy interested, but he was far more interested in the smaller things-- a candy wrapped on the ground beside a statue, the dust on a vase, a dying flower. We passed by several students that must have been the seniors, who stared. God, did they ever stare. The boys looked at me with interest, the girls gave me sour, pinched looks. And they all looked at Billy like everyone else did-- surprise, then pity, and then cruelty. Perhaps I was just over-reacting, but living with my older brother, who had a slightly more intelligent form of autism, showed me that people are not who they make themselves out to be-- they're evil. And no one is going to change my opinion about that.

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